The Glorious Cause, page 52
By March the lean, skeleton-like figures who dragged themselves around Valley Forge began to put on flesh. And the flesh was now covered by shirts and breeches. The reorganized commissary and quartermaster services could claim a part of the credit for these improvements, but so could Washington and the foraging parties.
During the winter the troops had not had enough to do. Their physical condition prevented strenuous exertion, the weather was harsh in any case, and they were left to themselves. The army had moved so often in the preceding months that no clear routine had developed. No common drill had been imposed on the regiments, and they paraded and handled their arms pretty much as their commanders decreed. Since most regimental commanders had no military training themselves, what they taught was often of limited value and sometimes worthless.
An opportunity to change all this—to give the rank-and-file military exercise and to turn them into professionals—appeared in late February in the person of an engaging Prussian who called himself Frederick William Augustus Henry Ferdinand, Baron von Steuben. He had arrived in America bearing a letter to Congress from Benjamin Franklin and Silas Deane. They recommended him highly, although not nearly as highly as he recommended himself. He had served, he said, with Frederick the Great; he had been a lieutenant general, a quartermaster general, and Frederick’s aide-de-camp. The Baron was stretching things a bit, just as he stretched out his name. He had held a commission in Frederick’s army fourteen years earlier but reporting that was about as close as he got to the truth about himself. He was in fact a soldier of fortune whose fortunes were rather low. Although he talked confidently about his estate in Swabia, he owned no property and had no employment. But unlike most who presented themselves to Congress, he did not ask for pay or preferment. All he wished, he said, was to place himself at General Washington’s disposal. In return he expected only that his expenses would be paid. Relieved and pleased at this unusual modesty, Congress sent him off to Valley Forge.42
Washington liked what he saw in Steuben, and when Steuben mentioned a desire to help train the ragged troops Washington gave him his head. Steuben would for the time being serve as acting inspector general charged with the task of teaching the soldiers how to march in formations and how to handle their weapons. Despite the fact that Steuben knew what he was about, he faced a tremendous difficulty for he knew no English. Since the American army had neither written regulations nor manuals, he wrote the drill in French, and his secretary, Pierre Duponceau, a boy of seventeen, translated it into English. John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton, both on Washington’s staff, polished it, rephrasing the translation when necessary in language intelligible to American troops. These instructions were then copied into the orderly books of the various regiments.
Washington then gave Steuben one hundred men who were to serve as a model company. Steuben himself took on the task of teaching this unit close-order drill. In doing so, he cast aside the usual practice in the British and American armies of having all instruction given by noncommissioned officers. The Baron began by calling a squad from the company which he marched back and forth as the company and large numbers of others looked on. He ran into trouble almost immediately. He had memorized the English and gave his commands in the language, but an imperfect memory and a heavy accent combined with a short temper led to some confusion in the ranks. Close-order drill like many simple exercises has its own strange complexities. While he sputtered curses in French and German—”God damn” exhausted his store of English profanity—Captain Benjamin Walker stepped forward and, speaking in French, offered to translate the Baron’s commands into English. Steuben accepted with gratitude. From that moment on, the drill proceeded with some smoothness, although the delivery of the commands twice, first in French and then in English, was awkward.
Those officers and men who marched, and those who observed, learned. Imitation may or may not be the sincerest form of flattery, but it is an effective way of learning how to march and how to handle a musket. Those who marched under the Baron’s careful eye were soon able to instruct others. The manual of arms followed and then the proper use of the bayonet. By late March all of the regiments of the army were practicing the Baron’s drill.
The accounts that have survived these days indicate that this training took hold in part because the men enjoyed it and enjoyed watching Baron von Steuben. They also evidently admired him and were amused by him, especially when he indulged his temper. Soldiers of all nationalities usually have a special fondness for profanity, and many have a special proficiency in its use. Steuben was one, but even though he exploded and cursed he soon understood that an attempt to induce respect and fear in these troops would not take him very far. Republicans in arms had a special character, as he wrote an old European comrade: “In the first place, the genius of this nation is not in the least to be compared with that of the Prussians, Austrians, or French. You say to your soldier, ‘Do this,’ and he doeth it, but I am obliged to say, ‘This is the reason why you ought to do that,’ and he does it.”43
The corollary to this conclusion is that the American soldiers knew what they were fighting for. They had a sense of the “glorious cause.” And these soldiers at Valley Forge were veterans, some of Brandywine and more perhaps of Germantown. Soldiers new to the army can be disciplined, their wills shaped by vigorous exercise on the drill field. Veterans cannot be, in the usual sense. Battle has already taught them the need for both firm leadership and immediate response to orders. Close-order drill and the manual of arms aided them in doing what they must do under fire. In the tactics employed in the eighteenth century, professional armies depended on well-executed movements, and the drill on the parade field actually enabled infantry to move effectively into battle. The veterans at Valley Forge, recognizing this and recognizing too what Steuben could do for them, laughed when he exploded—he shared the pleasure he gave—but they also did as they were ordered.
In May these newly acquired skills were put to a preliminary test. Washington learned from spies in Philadelphia that the British were making preparations to leave, perhaps to return to New York City. The young officers at Valley Forge yearned for action after the dull, confining winter, none more than Marquis de Lafayette, who offered to lead a detachment which was to watch the enemy and if the opportunity arose strike his sources of supply. Washington agreed and sent Lafayette off with 2200 men. On May 20, several large British forces moving quickly from Philadelphia almost trapped Lafayette at Barren Hill, eleven miles to the west of the city. Lafayette escaped the converging forces, which might well have ground him to pieces, through skillful maneuvering and rapid marching—maneuvers and marches which could be accomplished only by troops practiced in moving efficiently in large bodies.44
Lafayette had learned much about fighting in his first year in America, and he demonstrated his knowledge in this engagement at Barren Hill. Not quite twenty-one years of age, he had come to America in June 1777 over the opposition of his family and his king. Neither wished to see him risk his life in the American war. Lafayette was determined, however, to find glory and to fight British tyranny. That the tyranny was British was important, for Lafayette shared the desire of his countrymen to revenge themselves on their old enemy. Just how well he understood the principles for which the Americans struggled is not clear. Later on, after the war, when his understanding had matured, he explained his coming to America as service to the great principles of the Revolution. Whatever his convictions during the war, he remained a young nobleman of wealth, charm, and courage. These qualities impressed George Washington who had taken such a liking of Lafayette when they met in July 1777, that he had offered him a place on his staff. Lafayette, commissioned a major general by Congress, accepted eagerly. Eagerness soon developed into something approaching adoration of his chief. And Washington, who held all men at arm’s length, responded with affection and warmth.
IV
General Clinton replaced Howe in May, and by the middle of June, he was prepared to evacuate Philadelphia. Almost three thousand loyalists prepared to depart with him. With the help of Lord Richard Howe, who was to retain the naval command until early autumn, Clinton loaded these people, the sick, and some supplies aboard transports in the Delaware. The remainder of his troops, about 10,000 in all, would march overland along with a supply train of 1500 wagons. His army in the eight months spent in Philadelphia had accumulated a variety of goods that helped make life tolerable and was determined to carry them to New York. Besides the soldiers’ possessions and the officers’ baggage, there were the laundries, bakeries, blacksmiths’ shops, all vital to the life of an eighteenth-century army, and almost equally important the bat horses, private carriages, hospital supplies, and inevitably the camp followers.
Clinton set this bloated mass in motion at 3:00 A.M. on June 18. Flat-bottom boats carried them across the Delaware at Gloucester, New Jersey, in seven hours of hard work.45 Several roads to New York were available. The most likely route, and one Clinton considered for a time, ran through Haddonfield, Mount Holly, Crosswicks, Allentown, Cranbury, New Brunswick, where the Raritan River would have to be crossed, and finally to Staten Island. Clinton formed his army on the New Jersey side and began to crawl, the word is well chosen, toward New York. His supply train, principally the 1500 wagons, covered twelve miles of road. Getting them all under way must have taken several hours, and the column did not make good time. During the next six days, the army managed to move to Allentown, about thirty-five miles from Philadelphia. Clinton remained untroubled by this pace, which he knew could be improved only by the most strenuous efforts.
A report that the British had pulled out reached Washington later that same morning. He had been considering what if anything he should do if the British left Philadelphia. The day before Clinton made his move Washington called a council of his general officers and asked for advice. These officers did not agree but the preponderant opinion favored letting the British escape with little more than harassment. Charles Lee may have opposed even minor attacks, and Lee carried others with him. Washington, undecided about just how much to risk, was disposed to punish the enemy as much as possible, though he does not seem to have wanted to bring on a large-scale battle. His instincts, as always, were for action, and immediately after getting the information about the evacuation he put some of his regiments on the road. His army had grown to almost 13,500. About 1300 of them were with Brig. General William Maxwell at Mount Holly, and General Philemon Dickinson had some 800 New Jersey militia across the river. By the next day almost the entire army had left Valley Forge. By June 23, Washington had them across the Delaware at Coryell’s Ferry, and the next day he camped at Hopewell, fifteen miles west of Cranbury. The army, between 10,000 and 11,000 strong, had moved fifty-seven miles in six days.46
The march raised the men’ spirits but it did not change the advice of Washington’s commanders. Lee continued to argue against taking on the enemy. Build them a bridge of gold, he said, to speed them on their way. Most of the others agreed, impressed as amateurs usually are by professional opinion. Anthony Wayne and Nathanael Greene, young and proud, urged an attack though they did not propose that Washington seek a general engagement. Steuben gave what was perhaps the wisest counsel of all—strike Clinton when he was on the move and off balance. Lafayette joined Steuben and pointed out that the long British baggage train was especially vulnerable.47
Had Clinton attended the council of Washington’s officers, he would have confessed that his long train was open to attack. Detachments under Maxwell and Dickinson had not yet ambushed his wagons, but they had made the going more difficult by breaking down bridges and the causeways over marshes. Clinton was aware of these shadows, and he soon got word that Washington had come out of Valley Forge. What worried Clinton most was the danger he would face at New Brunswick, where the Raritan would have to be crossed, where he might have to fight under dreadful circumstances. At the Raritan he feared he would have to face the combined forces of Gates—who he thought was coming down from New York—and Washington.
These odds seemed unpromising and, understandably, Clinton decided to turn at Allentown to the northeast on a route that would carry him through Monmouth Court House and Middletown to Sandy Hook and thus avoid the Raritan. This line of march could only be followed on one road and forced him to bring his troops and his wagons together. Between Gloucester and Allentown he had been able to use parallel roads and had placed most of his infantry between Washington and the baggage train. Now he had to consolidate his forces into one column—the van, some 4000 under Knyphausen, followed by the long line of wagons, and to the rear 6000 troops—the cream of the army, grenadiers and light infantry. Clinton detached about a third of these trailing soldiers and placed them under Cornwallis as a rear guard.48
The British hit the road early on June 25 and reached Monmouth Court House, nineteen miles from Allentown, late the next afternoon. This move in brutal heat sapped their energies. Their soldiers carried packs of at least sixty pounds, weight made especially difficult to bear by sandy roads, woolen uniforms, and cumbersome muskets. The Hessians, who wore even heavier clothing than the English, suffered the most, several dying of sunstroke along the way. With his troops worn out and the hot weather holding on, Clinton had to rest his army throughout the next day.49
Washington also shifted his main force on June 25. He left his baggage and his tents at Hopewell and marched seven miles to Kingston, a small village three and one-half miles north of Princeton and twenty-five miles from Monmouth Court House. The same day he sent Anthony Wayne forward with 1000 regulars from New Hampshire—Poor’s brigade—in order to strengthen the forces shadowing Clinton. The headquarters for this advance party was now at Englishtown about five miles west of the enemy’s camp at Monmouth, but though the American van was close it was in fact divided into uncoordinated units. As if to remedy this, Washington pushed closer the night of the 25th, passing through Cranbury and pausing early the next morning within five miles of Englishtown. Like Clinton’s army, the American rested on June 27.
While the troops ate, pulled their boots off, and slept, Washington brought several of his commanders to his headquarters. Among them was Charles Lee, who two days earlier had been persuaded to assume command of the advance force. Lee often appeared strange and eccentric to his colleagues and never more so than in these June days. Washington and Howe had agreed upon an exchange which freed him from British confinement in April, and in May he had returned to the American army at Valley Forge, where he was greeted with enthusiasm. While Lee was being held by the British he may have betrayed his American comrades by offering a plan of action to his captors, a plan designed, at least on its face, to end the war with a British victory. Since his return he had done little and when called upon for advice invariably couched it in language that left little doubt that he believed the American army could not stand up to the British. When, on June 25, Washington asked him to command the vanguard that trailed Clinton so closely, he at first refused and suggested that this task should properly go to Lafayette. Almost as soon as Lafayette accepted the command, now containing almost half the army, Lee changed his mind and asked that it be given to him. Washington agreed, and Lafayette generously gave way. Alexander Hamilton, who had watched these transactions with scorn, called Lee’s behavior “childish.” Whether or not that judgment was accurate, Lee’s opposition to an attack on Clinton’s army should have disqualified him from a responsible post.50
Nonetheless Washington gave him command and on the 27th gave orders to attack the British rear when it began to move. The exact wording of the orders is not clear but whatever Washington said, his intention to bring on a partial engagement was plain. That he gave Lee discretion to avoid battle in extraordinary circumstances did not obscure this purpose. Washington provided no detailed instructions, however, as he had not reconnoitered the ground. Nor had Lee, who on returning to the advance force made no plan and gave no orders beyond a general statement to his subordinates that they must be guided by circumstances.51
At five in the morning of June 28, Clinton started Knyphausen on the road to Middletown, about ten miles to the northeast. Dickinson, whose militia lay near to the British lead units, sent word immediately to Lee and Washington. Lee’s units began moving from around Englishtown along the road to Monmouth Court House, and less than an hour later Clinton’s rear began following the baggage train. The rear guard under Cornwallis was the last of all to move; it seems to have barely got on the road when units of Lee’s cavalry discovered it. The battle that followed developed slowly as the two sides found each other and brought their troops to imperfect concentration.52
The terrain, largely unknown to the Americans and only slightly more familiar to the British, was in part responsible for the peculiar struggle that followed. Most of the ground was sandy pine barrens cut by small streams flowing through morasses and speckled by woods. Three fairly large ravines ran on a roughly east-west line just north of Monmouth Court House. They were West Ravine, Middle Ravine, and East Ravine. West Ravine and Middle Ravine were about a mile apart, and both were on the road. A bridge had been built over West Ravine and a causeway over Middle Ravine. East Ravine, which lay a little more than a mile east of Middle Ravine, was also divided by the road.53
The battle of Monmouth Court House began to take on serious proportions around this last ravine, just a mile north of the court house, as Lee’s forces groped along the road. How the two sides actually engaged is not clear, but within an hour of noon almost 5000 Americans in no very ordered alignment nor in any fixed position, confronted around 2000 British, mostly infantry, under Cornwallis.54
